McKinley School of Arts
by Procrastination Fairy
Summary: The McKinley School of Arts is home to four different glee clubs: the New Directions (the top dogs), the Troubletones, the Warblers (both decent acapella groups), and the Scalar Octaves (the glee club for newbies). The four have lived in perpetual competition since their founding-until some groups get the idea of poaching. And suddenly, ND isn't as on top as they used to be...
1. act 1, scene 1

**Before I watched Glee, I always thought that all of the glee clubs were at McKinley. The New Directions, Vocal Adrenaline, the Warblers, all of them. So I decided to write a fic sort of inspired by how I thought Kurt and Blaine's relationship went before I watched a single episode, also based off of McKinley's set-up at the end of Season 6. All those glee clubs just happened to work out perfectly for me, the only exception being the substation of the Warblers for Duly Noted. And about Etranger—I will get an update out soon, I promise! I've been having awful writer's block for months, but I've been trying to force out a few words every day. Hopefully, that will come your way soon!**

Kurt knew of the Warblers. Of course he did. The Warblers were one of the many glee clubs McKinley hosted, and Kurt was in glee. He'd be an idiot not to know of his competition. Still, there was a difference between knowing of the Warblers and knowing the Warblers themselves.

As the Warblers, along with their female-only counterpart the Troubletones, were an acapella group, so they sort of competed in an entirely different circuit. Of course, technically, they could compete in the regular glee line-up, but the administration didn't want to allow it. There was no reason to cause unnecessary competition between classmates. That really didn't stop anything; all the McKinley glee clubs had an unofficial competition going about who would bring home the most trophies.

The New Directions have been winning that competition for years. There are no worries, so far, but even Rachel Berry, the most obnoxious and stubbornly self-important of all the New Directions could admit that the Warblers have been catching up. With the Warblers gearing up for acapella Nationals, it wasn't any wonder that the New Directions were finally taking them seriously.

Kurt thought it was a little silly they hadn't taken them seriously before. McKinley was a performing arts magnet school. Of course everyone in the school was going to be talented. Still, the New Directions had always been lauded as the "good" glee club. While the acapella groups weren't necessarily bad, they simply couldn't compare to the New Directions. Until they did.

"You have to go and spy on them," said Rachel one day at the end of practice. As usual, everyone in the group was drop dead tired from dancing and singing their hearts out. Hardly anyone looked at her, no one willing to be the person dragged into yet another one of her competitive schemes. Instead, there were students lying face flat on the floor or draped across the chairs. Santana and Quinn were already walking out the door—but, of course, they were Cheerios, so they were more than used to the exertion. In the corner, Mike was wiping the sweat off his head with his sweatshirt while Tina tried to coerce him into removing his much thinner undershirt.

Kurt couldn't contain a fond smile at that. It seemed nice to have such a strong relationship.

"Kurt," Rachel prodded.

He turned to look at her. For a moment, he considered running off and driving home, but no, that wouldn't work. She was a pest. Whatever she wanted to talk about, she'd find a way to talk about it.

Rachel inhaled slowly, and Kurt was surprised to see that even she had been affected by the rather extensive practice. She brushed her bangs from her forehead, where they'd been sticking with sweat, and took a few deep breaths. "You need to spy on the Warblers," she said.

Kurt reached for his water bottle in his backpack and took a long drink. "They're not even technically our competition," he said.

"Technically," Rachel stressed. "You know everyone compares us. We can't fall behind. We can't show weakness. Look, just take a look around and scope out their talent. Maybe if they have any good singers, you can recruit them. You might even finally find your perfect duet partner."

Kurt raised a brow. He highly doubted it. He threw his head back and downed the last of his water before turning to walk into the hallway. "Why are you asking me?"

Rachel followed him out the door and walked in front of him to the water fountain, surprised when he didn't stop.

"That water's not cold," he said. "I'm going upstairs."

At the upstairs fountain, he refilled his bottle and took a long drink. The fountain was a little messed up, and the flow uneven. As he leaned back, he wiped the stray drops from his cheek with his sleeve.

"You know the dance," Rachel explained after she herself took a drink, leaning against the wall for support. Kurt followed suit. He was pretty sure his legs were jell-o—stable, but not a very comforting thing to be supported by. "But you're not teaching it like Mike. And you know the song. So you won't be missing anything by skipping out on one practice."

He frowned. From the next room, he could hear faint voices making a variety of garbled sounds. He vaguely wondered how the human mouth could create such a noise.

"What's in it for me?" he asked.

At this, Rachel gave a considering look. "A solo," she said.

A solo. Of course. That was show choir politics. Trading songs and solos and features were all part of the business. It was a little ridiculous how serious everyone took the whole thing.

"Make it two solos and a duet of my choice," Kurt said.

Rachel smiled. "Deal."

Hey, it was life though. Kurt could pretend he was above it, but solos were solos. He wanted to sing on his own, and that was too rare. "We need you in the background to even out the vocal range," was the answer he'd always get from Mr. Schue whenever he complained. Kurt knew that actually spoke of his talent, how he'd be placed on whatever part that needed another voice to stabilize it, but it still wasn't the limelight.

That was why Kurt found himself skipping practice the next week. When the final bell of the day rang and Kurt was freed from his precalc prison, instead of walking down the hall to the main choir room, he found himself headed across the school and upstairs to one of the smaller classrooms. He stopped in front of the water fountain out of habit. He reached for his bottle, but it was still full—he always refilled it before last hour because of glee.

By the time Kurt had arrived in front of the room where the Warblers practiced, practice must have started. The door had been left open, so their voices echoed into the hallway, a barrage of noises and then a single lead voice, crystal clear and warm. The voice reminded Kurt of how his dad used to mix in brown sugar to his carrots to make them taste sweeter when Kurt was a kid. After a moment, he realized that thought was weird and put it out of mind.

He leaned against the wall just outside of the practice room, unwilling to intrude and reveal himself. Just listening was spying, he thought. He hadn't even really been sure what Rachel had wanted him to do here. Still, the lead singer had a very nice voice. It sent a thrill up Kurt's spine. He found himself never wanting to move.

The Warblers went through a few songs, or maybe the same song a few times. Kurt wasn't exactly able to hear perfectly clear, and his ability to concentrate had been destroyed. He'd always been a sucker for a nice voice. The guy probably wasn't even gay, but there were no rules that Kurt couldn't enjoy a voice. (He did very much enjoy Puck's voice after all. But only when he was singing, and not even during the lewder songs.) Finally, the music stopped, and the voices turned to chatter. They'd taken a break.

For a moment, Kurt wondered what exactly he was planning on doing when the Warblers all flooded out and found him spying. Then he realized that that particular classroom that Warblers used had two doors, and luckily for Kurt, most of them seemed to be going out the other.

Unluckily, most was not all.

"Hey!" said one of the Warblers, a blond with a dye job so obvious even Kurt's dad would have noticed, though that did seem to be a little for effect. Another followed him out, this one with darker hair, and he cracked a smile at Kurt. The blond Warbler continued, "Are you getting a drink?"

Kurt froze. He glanced to the water fountain behind him. Right. This was the good water fountain, the one he always used, and the one right next to the Warbler's practice room. "I am," he said quickly, pulling out his water bottle

It was full. He'd forgotten about that.

"The water is warm," he explained as he stepped to the fountain and poured some down the drain.

Blond Warbler nodded understandingly. "Yeah, the school really sucks about that. I think this is the only water fountain that doesn't taste and isn't warm."

The other Warbler was still silent with a raised brow. Kurt started to ask him what he was staring at when he held out a hand. "I'm Nick, and this is Jeff. You're one of the New Directions, right?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," Kurt breathed his answer in more one sound than three, head bobbing along with his hand. His espionage was obviously a failure if they recognized him.

"We figured," said Blond Warbler—Jeff. "You come up here all the time for this water instead. I'm surprised your teammates don't do the same."

"Being on the New Directions calls for a good voice, not a good brain," Kurt said dryly. This yanked a laugh out of the other two.

Jeff looked over to Nick for a moment, and they exchanged a series of expressions that almost appeared to be a conversation. Then Nick reared his head back into the practice room. "Hey, Blaine, come out here!"

Kurt's muscles tensed. This had been a bad idea. He couldn't believe he'd let Rachel talk into this. They were probably going to beat him, and they were calling the biggest guy in there—and Blaine was barely 5'8".

"Oh, hi," said the newcomer politely, also reaching out for Kurt's hand. His grip was a little tighter, and he didn't let go of Kurt's hand once they'd shaken. The way his hand fell, and Kurt's consequently, pulled Kurt a little closer to him. From this angle, Kurt could see that he definitely had a few good inches on this guy, and this guy was cute to boot, dark hair gelled down that had a hint of a curl, honey-colored eyes, warm skin. "I'm Blaine Anderson, Warbler captain. You're Kurt, right?"

Kurt paused and tilted his head. He hadn't even introduced himself to Jeff and Nick. How . . . ?

"Hey, why don't you listen in to our next song? It would be great to have the opinion of someone on the best glee club in school," Blaine suggested.

Kurt blinked rapidly. "Oh, I, uh, um," he said, but Blaine was already leading him inside. Someone had pulled over a chair, and Blaine led Kurt to said chair. Once he was sure Kurt was sitting down and comfortable, he backed up until he was among the rest of the group.

"I hope you like it," Blaine said earnestly. "We've been working hard."

Then the group started to sing, and Kurt realized Blaine had the pretty brown-sugar-carrot voice, and he nearly smacked himself for using that metaphor again. But he couldn't help it. There was something about Blaine's voice that made him think of everything warm and homey and new and exciting. Kurt could feel his face light up with interest, and he could see how that was noted by the choir, as they became a little more animated.

No one had ever made Katy Perry sound so appealing.

When the last voice had trailed off, Blaine stepped back in front of Kurt, eyes bright as he asked for his opinion.

"Uh . . . wow . . . ," was all Kurt was able to get out.

Blaine beamed at the compliment, and all the Warblers smiled, clearly pleased that they'd managed to impress him.

"Almost makes you want to join, doesn't it?" said one of the Warblers. Kurt furrowed his brow at him, but then someone else made a remark about how his vocal range would have been a great asset, and Blaine, clearly eager to stop them from talking, offered to walk Kurt back down to his own practice. Kurt was so dazed he didn't even protest, hardly thinking about the fact that he hadn't shown up in the first place today.

"You know, it's really flattering that the New Directions sent a spy," Blaine said as they descended down the stairs, arms linked.

Kurt's face flushed under his freckles. A wide smile spread across Blaine's face.

"Your lead singer has a very loud voice, in all ways," he explained. "She might have chosen someone who doesn't walk by our room all the time too."

Kurt was flummoxed. "You noticed me? I mean, not you specifically, but, uh . . . ."

"Yes, we did notice you. Me specifically," Blaine said.

As they started to near the choir room, Blaine slowed down. "So I guess this means the New Directions consider us rivals now?"

"I mean, we don't even compete in the same circuit," Kurt said slowly, "so I don't see—"

"No, Kurt, see, we're rivals," Blaine cut him off, a very serious look on his face.

"You and me specifically?" Kurt joked.

Blaine nodded, a smirk toying at his lips. "Yes. And you know what they say rivals have, right?"

Kurt couldn't seem to recall. Blaine leaned, bracing himself on Kurt's shoulders and smoothing out his collar. He felt his face flush again, but he made no attempts to move away. Blaine was just too gosh darn cute.

"Chemistry," he said simply.

"I've never heard anyone say rivals have to have chemistry," Kurt said.

Blaine carefully released him and stepped back, starting towards the Warblers practice room again. "Well," he said with a quick wink back in Kurt's direction, "that's what they will say when they see us."


	2. act 2, scene 2

**So for those of you new to this series (as I know not everyone ships Klaine), this is an AU based off of my preconceptions of Glee before I started watching. Initially, I assumed all the glee clubs were at McKinley for some reason. Because of the nature of this series, I'll be jumping around with characters and ships. My intention is to make every story be able to stand on its own (thus those who wish to avoid certain couples can do that fairly easily), but we'll see how that goes.**

 **Aside from that, this is my first time writing from Santana's point of view, and definitely my first time focusing on these ladies specifically. I know my characterization may not be quite up to par yet, so if anything seems off, feel free to tell me. I want to improve on this.**

 **If you have read the first part of this series, I suggest you go back and reread it. I switched up a few things to make it work.**

The whole thing started when Santana Lopez decided that she just may kill Rachel Berry.

Granted, she thought that on a regular basis-because god damn was Berry annoying sometimes-on such a regular basis, in fact, that it could probably be considered a normal part of her routine. But the day in question was a day in which Santana was particularly agitated by Rachel and for very good reason.

Glee club practice had started out no different than usual. Rachel, as self-proclaimed team captain, had led the group through vocal warm-ups, with half the team having difficulty taking seriously. She began a long rant about their chances at winning Nationals with that sort of attitude that had no effect on anyone just as Mr. Schuester walked in. At this, Santana, who had been making obnoxious faces to Quinn while warming up, straightened up a little.

"I'm sure you all remember that yesterday was our try-outs for the Back to School Pep Assembly Glee Club Showdown," he said brightly, clapping his hands together. Very few seemed intrigued by this prospect. Tina, Artie, and the other freshmen recruits had already heard about how completely soul-sucking this assembly was, along with the dreary prospect of listening to the other glee clubs trudge through their set lists. Santana herself couldn't care less-except for the fact that she had a chance at a solo.

Not a chance, really, she thought, as she examined her nails critically before reapplying her lip gloss and smirking haughtily, she had it in the bag. She'd heard the applause at the end of her audition. She'd been the clear winner.

"We're doing a group number and that solo song, right?" someone whispered. Santana exchanged a quick look with Quinn, but they couldn't get out a word before Mr. Schuester continued.

"I'm pleased to announce that our soloist for this performance will be Rachel Berry!" Mr. Schuester smiled sunnily at the girl, who ate it up. "We're also going to do some great choreography for our group number. I think this is a good time to showcase Mike's talents as well. I've been searching for a song that can highlight the amazing range of vocals we have in here, and-"

That's when the words finally caught up to Santana's brain, and she stopped listening.

Mr. Schuester had once again given the solo to Rachel. Okay. Nothing unusual, really. Santana was just . . . a little upset. More than a little upset. She was pissed. Come to My Window was a lesbian anthem, a song sung by an actual lesbian, and, hello, why not give the song to the actual lesbian? Besides, as good a singer as Rachel was, Santana had killed her audition. Her voice fit the song a thousand times better than Rachel's did. The solo was rightfully hers. So, yeah, Santana was so pissed she was about to cut a bitch, preferably the bitch known as Rachel Berry.

"What were you expecting?" Mercedes murmured next to her. Santana assumed she must have had a deadly look on her face. (Didn't she always though?) Mercedes shot her a sympathetic look. "Rachel gets everything. It's nothing new."

For a split second, though she'd never admit it, Santana felt a bit of sympathy. Mercedes knew the pain too. They were both killer singers, but always pushed to background by Berry's big ego. Still, Santana had no intentions of showing weakness, so she simply made a face and crossed her arms pointedly. Rachel obviously understood this look because she immediately launched into a rant about how Mr. Schuester had only chosen the best singer.

Bullshit. Santana called her on it. But it led nowhere, and she ranted to Quinn about it later at Cheerios practice.

"Mr. Schuester favoring Rachel over anyone else. What a surprise," Quinn hummed in that tone of hers. She gave a slight smile before taking a drink from her water bottle.

"I know you're not complaining, what, with that total raging lady boner you've got for her-incredibly wanky, by the way," Santana added when Quinn spluttered, water dribbling down her chin, "but I have much better taste in girls, and I'm totally turned off by pretentious diva wannabes. All I'm saying is that it would be nice for a change if different vocal talents were displayed."

Quinn nodded compliantly as she carefully wiped the water from her face.

"I wonder if Mr. Schuester is racist. After all, it seems like it's only me, Mercedes, and Tina who get the short end of the stick when it comes to solos," Santana mused.

Quinn paused, her eyes squinting in a disdainful way. "You can't say he's racist just because you don't get solos," she said.

Santana rolled her eyes. She reached up and pulled her hair down from its ponytail before retying it tighter so it wouldn't slip out again. "Not just me. Mercedes-black. Tina-Asian. Obviously, there's something going on."

"I don't get solos either," Quinn said firmly. "It's not a race thing. It's a Rachel thing."

Santana opened her mouth to say something else to derogatory. At that moment, Brittany Pierce saddled on up.

Santana didn't know Brittany all that well. Sure, she had sort of bonded with Santana and Quinn at try-outs freshman year, but after they'd been put in different glee clubs, it fell apart. The rivalry between clubs at the same school was ridiculous, but it was a part of life. And so long as Santana intended on staying on top, she was going to be a part of the New Directions. She wouldn't jeopardize that for anything. Even a really cute girl.

Quinn and Santana turned to stare at Brittany for a moment, waiting for her to say whatever she'd approached them to say. Brittany just stared back with her innocent eyes, a sweet smile on her lips.

"What?" Quinn said finally.

Brittany furrowed her eyebrows. "What?" she replied in turn.

"What do you want?" Quinn asked.

"I don't want anything. You two were the ones staring," Brittany said slowly. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You know, staring is rude."

Quinn turned to look at Santana, her mouth open in complete disbelief, before rolling her eyes. She reached for her bag off the bench and shoved her water bottle back in the holder. "You know what? I have to go. I have a dentist appointment."

After she had gone, leaving Santana and Brittany alone, Brittany seemed to remember something. Her face lit up, and she scrambled over to her bag-bright blue with rainbow stickers, her name written in bold black letters BRITTANY S. PIERCE, a remarkably realistic doodle of a cat-pulling out two bright pink envelopes, which also had a variety of equally bizarre decorations, though instead of her own name, these had SANTANA LOPEZ and MERCEDES JONES.

Santana raised a brow as Brittany walked back over.

"This is for you," Brittany said solemnly as she handed over the first envelope. "And the other is for your friend."

Santana thought about saying that she wouldn't exactly consider Mercedes a friend, but she stopped herself. What was the harm? It wasn't like Mercedes was awful. She was one of the better people in the New Directions. Plus they'd killed at their duet the last month. It just fucking sucked that Mr. Schuester had his head so far up Rachel's ass that he couldn't see that they were the clear winners.

"What is it?" she asked dryly instead.

Brittany shook her head and held a finger over her lip. "Unique told me not to tell anyone," she said softly. Then, she smiled, as if she couldn't resist adding, "I think you'll like. We'd really love to have to you. Please?"

With that, she turned on her heels and skipped back to her stunt group to restart practice before Coach started yelling. Santana spared one last glance at the envelopes and one last curious thought before tucking them aside and forgetting about them.

* * *

Santana's intentions with the letters were nonexistent. She hadn't thought about them since Brittany had given them to her at practice. For two days, they laid crumpled at the bottom of her backpack. And then it happened again.

This time, Mercedes had suggested an Aretha song. Before glee, she'd been gushing in the corner to Kurt and Tina about how she'd been dying to give this song a try, how she'd been practicing for weeks. Her friends were entirely supportive, and Santana herself couldn't help but feel a bit of smug satisfaction that, at least, that song couldn't be given to Rachel because it simply didn't suit her voice.

She should have known better.

"I got the solo because I deserve it," Rachel insisted.

"I suggested it," Mercedes said weakly, her voice somewhere between a sob and a scream. "It's my song. You know Aretha is my idol. That would be like . . . someone stealing a Barbra song from you. She's my Barbra."

At this, Kurt's face grew a little bit more grim. He reached to take her in his arms, but Mercedes batted him away, determined to finish her speech. "You throw a fit every time someone even comes close to singing something you consider yours. Why can't you let me have this?"

"I was the better singer. I won the solo, fair and square." Rachel's voice slowly grew louder. Half of the room winced at the shrillness while the other half didn't let up on their glares.

Kurt rolled his eyes at her, his nostrils flaring, as he patted Mercedes' shoulder encouragingly. "You were the better singer," he said softly. Tina nodded her agreement, as did Mike. This seemed to give Mercedes a little motivation, and she straightened up.

Shoulders firm, standing tall, she said, "You're such a hypocrite. I . . . I honestly thought maybe this once you'd give me this song. Aretha is my Barbra. But I really should have known better. Because you did the same to Santana. You just can't handle sharing the spotlight." With that, she stormed out.

"That was so dramatic," Quinn remarked, rolling her eyes.

"I liked it. Girl standing up for herself. Respect," Santana said.

Quinn gave her look, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's just a solo. What's the big deal?"

"You know what the big deal is." Santana scoffed, her perfectly manicured hand tightening around the strap of her backpack. Quinn looked as if she was going to argue, but Santana suddenly stood up as well, following Mercedes lead to the door.

Once out of the practice room, Santana wasn't entirely sure what she'd meant to do. It certainly wasn't standing in the hallway with its puke yellow tiles and the echoes of other clubs practicing. If she remembered correctly, the JV choir had a dance practice scheduled, booty camp, they called it. Santana briefly considered watching that, but Hudson, the quarterback, was in that club, and nothing was worth watching his booty prance around. She wasn't even sure how he got in a school specifically for performing arts when he could obviously perform in none of them.

The Troubletones also had a practice. She had heard Brittany mention it loudly during Cheerios a few times, accompanied by what was either a very creepy wink or a recently developed twitch. Crashing that was always an option. That offered two of her favorite things: watching girls shake their pom-poms and making others uncomfortable with her presence. But as much as she enjoyed those things, they didn't have quite the same appeal when she was so ticked.

Santana instead started towards the parking lot. Mercedes was already gone when she got there, and she moved to sit at the bench by the city bus stop. She suddenly remembered the letters Brittany had given her days before. Scrummaging through notebooks, a couple changes of clothes, and some make-up, the letters were crumpled at the bottom. Santana yanked out her own, hardly caring if it wrinkled anymore. It was practically ruined at that point. She wondered if Brittany had been the one to decorate it. The answer was likely yes, and that made her feel just slightly guilty.

Miss Santana Lopez:it read,

We are the Troubletones, the all-female acapella show choir at McKinley, and we would like to formally extend an invitation to join us.

She found herself wishing she'd remembered to grab her water bottle on the way out so she could have done a spit-take at that.

Join the Troubletones? Why? They were a notch lower than the New Directions on the social totem, so, uh, no? And no thank you with that because it's not even a decent offer? Why would Santana give up her position as one of the HBIC of McKinley?

Then again, she wasn't really a HBIC. After all, Rachel controlled everything.

"Screw Rachel," Santana muttered, her nails making little indentations in the paper.

Our team has recognized your vocal talents as superior, and your athletic activity in the Cheerios shows a great deal of coordination. As such, these things lead us to believe you would be a remarkable asset to our group. The Troubletones have won several Regionals titles, and our goal for this year is to take the title of the National Acapella Show Choir Champions. If you were to lend your talents, this would be in our grasp.

The Troubletones believe it is very important to showcase the talents of every member involved, as each of us gives her heart and soul to our performances. Solos are distributed as equally as possible, accounting for skill and vocal type, and our choreography offers girls who focus on the dancing aspect of show choir a chance to shine.

You are welcome to attend any of the upcoming Troubletones meetings if you wish to gain a better understanding of our activities.

Sincerely,

Unique Adams  
Troubletones Captain

Underneath all that, scribbling in a variety of crayons, was u r cute. we shud totes b friends. That had likely been added by Brittany, and Santana's stomach fluttered at the words.

It was a crazy idea, really. No one in their right mind would give up a place in the New Directions for the Troubletones.

Santana reminded herself to hand the other letter to Mercedes.

* * *

"I knew you'd come!" Brittany said excitedly when Santana walked through the door the next Thursday. Her face was bright as she bounced on her heels. The red-haired girl next to her smiled fondly, though exasperatedly, and pulled her back. Santana looked around the practice room skeptically, eyeing the barrage of dark curtains surrounding a open area that must have been the stage.

"This . . . isn't a joke, right?" Mercedes asked from behind her. "Like-we're actually invited to be in the Troubletones?"

A dark-skinned girl peeked out from one of the curtains. "Yes," she said slowly, stepping out and untangling herself from the drapes. "I'm Unique, the captain. And we're very glad to have you."


End file.
